


The Study II

by chasingtheskyline



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: And actively tries to come across as cruel/mean, And melancholy and bitterness exist at the same time as absolute joy, Angst, Being mentored by a person who doesn't like people, But not one devoid of warmth, Esmerelda is the weird kid who's friends with the mean teacher, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Fluff, Gen, HB doesn't like people but Esmerelda doesn't count as a person, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Is a very unique and special experience, Mental Instability, Post-Season/Series 02, The Hallow girls get some back story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25522198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingtheskyline/pseuds/chasingtheskyline
Summary: Esmerelda Hallow is not usually the one to be knocking on the door to Miss Hardbroom's study at eight o'clock at night. When she does, she doesn't even know why, and the door opens anyway.
Relationships: Esmerelda Hallow & Ethel Hallow, Esmerelda Hallow & Hardbroom, Esmerelda Hallow & Sybil Hallow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	The Study II

**Author's Note:**

> Aka Hecate Hardbroom is Esmerelda's ride-or-die
> 
> The structure of this conversation (and 80% of Hecate's dialogue, for that matter) comes from things I have actually been told during Moments of Emotional Intimacy by several very prickly mentors, who turned out to be some of the kindest people I've ever met.
> 
> This was a great comfort and joy to write. I hope you enjoy it.

The door to Miss Hardbroom's study was not the kind of door one simply knocked on for no reason. Esmerelda Hallow knew that. You had to be invited or have an immediate need to be let in. Those were the rules. The door sometimes made exceptions for very interesting theoretical questions, but those were rare. This Saturday evening, at the end of Parents' Weekend, just as everyone broke off before lights-out for final goodbyes, it was highly unlikely to be that lenient. 

Esmerelda certainly had an immediate need, but it was difficult to explain what it was, exactly. Mrs Hallow was giving Sybil a lecture back at the dormitories. Neither her grades, nor her quietness, nor her propensity for trouble could commend her, and Sybil heard no end. And Sybil couldn't cry. She froze, in the middle of all the yelling. Esmerelda ran. So now she stood outside Miss Hardbroom's study, indecisive in a need for certain answers. 

The door didn't try to debate with her, in its strange, internal way. It opened. Miss Hardbroom sat by her fire in a close-fitting, high-necked, painted silk wrapper gown, her hair in a long braid coming across the back of her head and tumbling down her right shoulder. She looked altogether pretty and content, nursing a nightcap of an evening. Esmerelda stepped over the threshold, onto the rug near the desk. 

Miss Hardbroom noticed Esmerelda, not altogether displeased to see her, but concerned nonetheless. Her voice was softer than usual, left easier from her throat. "Do you need something, Esmerelda?" 

Esmerelda looked down at her slippered feet, sighed out. "Yes. N--I don't know." Feeling Miss Hardbroom's eyes on her, her displeasure, her confusion, was almost too much to bear. "I don't know," she said again. 

"Well, sit down, then," Miss Hardbroom said with only a trace of her usual harshness, rising with a rustle of silk to send a message to the kitchens. She looked rather short, in slippers rather than four-inch platforms. "I shan't call for tea, it's too late for that, but Miss Tapioca does have hot cider." 

Esmerelda took a lurching step forward, then regained her equilibrium. "Yes, Miss Hardbroom." She found the easy chair Miss Hardbroom kept for her guests and sat on it. It accepted her, cushioned her where it hurt, like a soft, easy hug. As Esmerelda reached her hands out towards it, the fire seemed to grow warmer to ease the tension in her entire body. "I'm safe here," she whispered on an exhale. "I'm safe."

"What are you safe from, child?"   
Esmerelda was startled at Miss Hardbroom's acknowledgement, but didn't bother to lie. "Our mother is here for Parents' Weekend. We were just about to spend another half hour in my room, have a chat, maybe even a laugh--I had hope, even though it was unlikely--and she's decided to use that time to bring up Sybil's...mistakes. And yell about them. She's frightened enough of Mother--and, to be fair, everyone that isn't me--as it is. She doesn't deserve that."

Miss Hardbroom felt a pang of guilt at Esmerelda's words--her report of Sybil was good at Parents' Evening yesterday, but far from the words of praise she'd bestow upon her sisters. And now, she was paying the price. "Your sister has been making exceptional progress, Esmerelda. If she weren't so anxious, she'd do far better." The bell rang, and Miss Hardbroom went to answer it. She returned with a tray with two steaming mugs upon it, and placed it on the low tea-table between them. She sat down softly, perching on the edge of her chair, before continuing. "Most of Sybil's worries, and thus scrapes, are born of her fear of criticism. As are most of yours, for that matter."

Esmerelda brushed off the faint pity in Miss Hardbroom's voice, taking the mug nearest her in her hands, looking down at the white, smooth porcelain. "Mother finds fault with everything. I've just learnt to be competent." She took a sip. The cider was warm, and sweet-tart, and only the tiniest bit alcoholic. She sipped it slowly. 

"Far more than competent." Miss Hardbroom smiled over the top of her mug, and Esmerelda could see a slight softening in her dark eyes. "You've learned to be perfect, and when you're not, you get nervous."

"Yes, Miss Hardbroom. I am well aware." Esmerelda averted her gaze as she felt Miss Hardbroom's eyes boring into her again. It was excruciating."

"Your wretched sister, however, must endure the pain of competence without perfection." Miss Hardbroom said, with slight bitterness in her voice. Not necessarily pity, but disappointment. 

"She likes you more than our mother, but only barely," Esmerelda replied. "You haven't given her any reason not to be frightened of you, like you have me. You've not said a nice thing about her since she came to Cackle's. She's a sweet girl, my little sister, and eager to learn if you smile at her a bit. She shouldn't always be in my shadow. Sybbie's got her own merits, and you need to recognize them." 

Miss Hardbroom's eyes narrowed. "I shouldn't have to coddle students," was her lightly sarcastic reply. 

Esmerelda leaned forward and put her mug back on the table. Her hands folded stiff in front of her for emphasis as she spoke. "I'm here right now because I learn fast and work hard, Miss Hardbroom. Not because I'm perfect. I make mistakes all the time. It's just that I let no one see them, least of all you." Miss Hardbroom looked slightly puzzled, leaning back in her chair, so Esmerelda continued. "As you know from the time she tried to sack Miss Cackle, my mother is...mentally ill. I have to be perfect. Ethel is ignored. Sybil has to shut up and take the yelling. That's how it works. Ethel has taken that as license to do whatever she wants and be horrible to people, but Sybbie and I are in this together. Do not try to separate us."

Miss Hardbroom pursed her lips. If her criticism weren't valid she would have ordered Esmerelda out for her disrespect. Instead, she posed a question: "Why are you here?" 

It was too much effort to invent clever enough lies to fool Miss Hardbroom. "I feel safe here," Esmerelda answered.

"Why do you feel safe here when you've just compared my actions to those of a mother you despise?" Miss Hardbroom asked out of genuine curiosity. It seemed an odd sort of compliment, really, when she thought about it. Not that she needed compliments to be an effective educator, but sometimes they were nice, from the mouth of someone she respected. 

"The food's bad here, and cold. But it won't ever stop being there, even if I criticize you." said Esmerelda frankly, scoffing. She was too numbed out to cry. It didn't even feel bad to talk about anymore. Or at least the pain surrounding it had decreased so much as to be nearly imperceptible. "When I lost my powers, my mother spiraled more than she already had. Sybbie and I are insomniacs, and we get hungry awake at night, and I got caught. Mother got it in her head that I shouldn't be eating at night, so she locked the cupboards. But then she'd stay in bed all day, and Dad would be away, and the cupboards would stay locked. I got good at stealing the keys and any money we needed, but no punishment you could ever give me could be worse than being starved out like that. I'm sure Ethel and Sybil would say the same. That's why Ethel is using her powers so uncontrollably and violently now - she's completely fearless."

Miss Hardbroom couldn't hide her shock. Slowly, her face slacked and her jaw dropped. Her only response was a delicate "What?" on a breathless exhale. She didn't intend it as a question, but it hung in the air like that, suspended. Met with silence, it fizzled out. Miss Hardbroom swallowed hard, her eyes filling. "I can assure you, Esmerelda, that you will always thrive here at Cackle's. You will always have enough. And if you do not, you will come to me and we will make arrangements. Understood? Child, you're shaking."

Miss Hardbroom perched on the arm of Esmerelda's chair, taking the throw from the back and covering Esmerelda's shoulders. "That's better."

"Thank you," Esmerelda said quietly, entirely automatically, sipping her cider again, "You're a dear."

"No, I'm not. You are."

Dead silence. Esmerelda avoided Miss Hardbroom's gaze, lightly teasing and full of sympathetic good humor. Pretended not to hear her. To be looked at with genuine affection was excruciating. To even smile felt like too much effort, but trying to hold it back was exhausting. 

"You are, Esmerelda Hallow." 

Coming from Miss Hardbroom's lips, it felt like Esmerelda had just eaten a spoonful of honey out of the jar, and it tickled the back of her throat. If I laugh, she'll be smug until I graduate, she thought. But the joy bubbled in her chest, and it got too big for her body. So Esmerelda laughed, and she didn't want to, but it felt good, and she enjoyed it. And Miss Hardbroom looked very smug indeed. 

"No, you're wrong. I can't explain how wrong you are." Esmerelda suppressed further giggles, and Miss Hardbroom ceased her torment. "Why are you so kind to me?" 

"Because I want to help," Miss Hardbroom replied. "Because you are brilliant, and I see myself in you."

Esmerelda didn't know what to say to that, so she nodded in acknowledgement and let it be. Sometimes it was easier that way. She watched Miss Hardbroom pick a book from the other room and begin to read in silence. She was getting sleepy, the blanket warm against her shoulders, and she couldn't stifle a yawn.

"You can stay, if you like. You can sleep in your chair," Miss Hardbroom suggested, not sure if she minded herself, but a bit afraid for Esmerelda, as she had gone rather grey. "But you should look in on Sybil, comfort her. I'll see to it that the door to the kitchens is kept unlocked, and attend to any needs you both may have."

Esmerelda rose, her voice and body soft. "Yes, Miss Hardbroom, I will. Thank you so much." 

She made her way to the door, and Miss Hardbroom put an arm around her shoulder as she left. "I kindly ask you not to ruin my reputation," she instructed, with sternness belying warmth. "I've carefully curated it for thirty years, and I won't be undone just because some girl, albeit a very clever and kind one, lets everyone know I entertain students who are trying to avoid their mothers."

"Don't worry, Miss Hardbroom." Esmerelda smiled as she spoke. "I wouldn't dream of it." 

Esmerelda left hurriedly, half-jogging down the halls. She had spent a half hour in Miss Hardbroom's company, and in the greying light she could see her mother mount her broomstick and fly away, without a word of goodbye. That burden lifted, Esmerelda knocked on Sybil's door. 

Back in her study, Miss Hardbroom summoned several more blankets with a wave of her hand and made her way to her quarters, shutting the door between them and her study, but not locking it. 

And when Esmerelda returned, wet and cold and sleepless at one in the morning, there was the dying fire and the easy chair. The soft silence, and the safety.


End file.
